


Wayward Son

by Aviss



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Hunters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 15:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2314250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He left because there was a limit to how much betrayal and heartbreak a person could endure in one place before they lost whatever was left of themselves, and he kind of enjoys being sane and not feral. He left because after getting his power back he couldn’t stand the smell of the place, and Braeden had patted the back of her bike and smiled.</p><p>“Hey, I can do with a werewolf by my side,” she had looked him up and down, teasingly, “and not only during hunts. Come with me?”</p><p>And Derek had seen no reason not to.</p><p>...</p><p>The one where Derek becomes a hunter, makes friends with the Winchesters and finally goes back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wayward Son

**Author's Note:**

> First of, to allthebees, I hope you like it. It was fun writing it, and if I had more time it would have ended up being at least twice as long. I guess the prompt you left was not as literal as I made it, but being an old SPN fan, I just couldn't help myself.
> 
> I have tried to make the universes merge as seamlessly as possible, I'm not sure I managed but I hope it's not bad. 
> 
> To B, thanks so much for checking it and for your kind words! Gracias guapa!

**1\. Djinn**

 

They meet again a year after The Benefactor mess and two states from Beacon Hills.

Derek left Beacon Hills before the bodies of Peter and Kate were even cold, and good riddance to the fuckers. He left Beacon Hills in spite of Scott and Sheriff Stilinski, and even Stiles, asking him to stay. He left because there was nothing tying him to the place; his family house had been torn down, and the last remaining member of his family had been a murderous bastard all along, something he shouldn’t have forgotten considering Peter had killed Laura for her Alpha power.  He left because there was a limit to how much betrayal and heartbreak a person could endure in one place before they lost whatever was left of themselves, and he kind of enjoys being sane and not feral. He left because after getting his power back he couldn’t stand the smell of the place, and Braeden had patted the back of her bike and smiled.

“Hey, I can do with a werewolf by my side,” she had looked him up and down, teasingly, “and not only during hunts. Come with me?”

And Derek had seen no reason not to.

It’s refreshing being with someone who is so upfront about what they want from him. They both know it’s not love, and considering his past, Derek prefers it this way. It’s fun, what they have, Braeden is open about what she wants, has no inhibitions and kisses the way she fights, with her entire being into it. She cheats shamelessly, and laughs at everything, and is fearless and beautiful and so alive. She is also an excellent teacher and Derek has learned more about fighting and hunting in this past year than he ever thought he’d need. They go wherever someone hires them, because Braeden is a mercenary not a hunter, even if sometimes their targets are the same.  This past year has been good for Derek, moving constantly, not a single day of inactivity to regret his actions or his past.

They are hunting a Djinn in Enoch, Utah, because it decided to trap the wrong person inside its own dreams and the girl’s parents are rich and in the know about the supernatural, and Braeden has told Derek that a group of hunters have converged in the area.  It’s just as they are coming out of the house that they stumble upon them; Derek is carrying the girl to the car they rented, still unconscious and severely dehydrated and starved, and Braeden is still inside the house handling the clean up after the Djinn has been ripped to pieces because Derek can be squeamish about blood and viscera at the weirdest of times, according to her.

Derek had hoped the new hunters were the Winchesters, because as crazy as the brothers are they are never boring, and Derek kind of likes them even if they are assholes. But luck has never been on his side, so instead they get the Calaveras, posed to attack at the entrance of the house, their weapons pointed steadily at Derek.

“Let go of that girl, Hale,” Severo Calaveras says in his heavily accented English. They are way out of their territory; there are too many hunters in the country for the ones south of the border to venture this up north, but the previous victim of the Djinn had been a Mexican boy and they have probably chased it all the way to here.  They don't look happy to have someone else finish their job for them. “Slowly.”

“I just rescued this girl from the thing trying to eat her,” Derek says, rolling his eyes, not even stopping on his way to the car. “I am not—“

“You are a werewolf,” Severo cuts him off.

“And not what we are hunting, Severo.” Another voice intervenes, and is one Derek knows.  He gets to the car and opens the door, settling the girl in the back seat before he turns around and faces the hunters.

There is Chris Argent, next to Severo Calaveras and apparently keeping the other hunters from shooting at Derek. He stares at him, surprised, lips twitching up in a smile. He is honestly pleased to see him.

“Chris, it’s good to see you.” He looks older than Derek remembers, a bit more salt than pepper in his beard and hair, the care lines on his face a little deeper.  His eyes are still that luminous blue that reminds Derek of his own beta blue eyes, but they hold a lot more warmth now when he looks at him.

“Derek, I heard you left Beacon Hills but I didn’t know you had become a hunter,” Chris says, and he takes a couple of steps toward Derek, seems to hesitate for a heartbeat before pulling him into a hug.

Derek doesn’t know what to do for a moment, his body stiff under Chris’s arms before he recognizes the gesture for what it is, a declaration to the other hunters. He forces himself to relax, returning the embrace and patting Chris gently on the back, mindful of his strength.  It is true that all the bad blood between their families is long gone, and the last time they saw each other, back when Peter and Kate were working together trying to kill Scott McCall, they had been more friends than reluctant allies.

“I’m not,” he says once they move apart awkwardly, every single eye fixed warily on them.

“We don’t do this for free,” Braeden says, coming out of the house.  She has a can of gasoline in her hand, the smell of it enough to make Derek wish for duller senses. "Put away your guns, Calaveras, we were hired by the girl’s parents.”

Most of them do, Braeden’s presence and Chris gesture enough to vouch for Derek. Severo and a couple more keep them for another minute, before Braeden deliberately lights a cigarette, the sound of her zippo clicking shut final enough to make them take a step back from the house.  Derek has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, the smell of fear and arousal coming from the Calaveras overpowering that of the gasoline. He can understand them; Braeden looks good enough to eat, calmly smoking a cigarette while the gasoline pools at her feet.

“I have to go give the girl back to her parents and collect payment. I suggest you disperse.” She moves away from the house and flicks her half smoked cigarette inside. It ignites immediately, the wall of heat making everyone flinch. Derek fights the urge to run, something he has mastered in this past year as well. Fire is one the most effective weapons against the supernatural, after all. “Unless you want to stay here toasting s'mores and singing kumbaya around this lovely bonfire.” She approaches Derek and takes the key from his hand. “Do you want to stay here and catch up with Chris?”

Derek looks at Chris, who is staring back at him. “Chris?”

“Yes, of course, we can have a beer like civilized people and talk about home. “ He turns to the rest of the hunters. “See you at the motel.”

Braeden drops a quick peck on Derek’s lips before she gets in the car. “Text me where you are and I’ll drop by later.”

She leaves without waiting for a response, and Derek and Chris move away from the burning house, not checking whether everyone else is also dispersing. Derek knows half of it is plain acting for his benefit, but he really doesn’t care. Even if he was the one who left, he wants news from home, wants to know everyone is fine.

“You can always call Scott, you know. He worries about you,” Chris says once they are settled in a bar, a cold beer in their hands. It is, surprisingly, an upscale bar, not the dark and dirty dive Derek was expecting. He might be spending too much time with hunters and mercenaries. "You can even call _me_."

“I wasn’t sure I could know something was going on and not go back and try to help,” Derek admits, not looking at Chris. He has wanted to contact Scott many times before, make sure things were alright, but he always had an excuse not to. “And I am not ready to go back.”

Chris nods as if he knows what Derek feels. He probably does, considering he also lost everything he loved in that godforsaken town.

“You look much better now. Settled. Braeden is good for you.“ He downs his beer and signals the waiter for two more. “Though I have to admit is ironic seeing a werewolf hunting another supernatural creatures.”

Derek chuckles. “I know, Sam and Dean almost killed me on sight the first time we met them.”

“Ah, the Winchesters.” Chris’s tone of voice says everything they need to say on the subject, and they laugh.

The conversation is surprisingly easy, flitting from one subject to another while they drink beer after beer. It’s the easiest Derek has been with another person since Braeden, and is ironic it’s Chris Argent, the last member of the family that obliterated Derek’s, but here they are. Chris tells him about going to France with Isaac and coming back when Scott called, about falling into depression once Kate was dead and he was definitely the last living Argent. He tells him how the Calaveras dragged him out of Beacon Hills, almost kidnapped him, and took him on hunts again.

“They are not bad hunters, they abide the code. And they were good friends of my family before it went off the rails,” Chris explains, and Derek holds on his judgment; he has been a guest of the Calaveras’s hospitality before, and they had a few things in common with Kate. A fondness for electricity among them.  “I am not sure I will be hunting with them for much longer, though. I think I can do without babysitters now.”

“You can always come with us,” Braeden says, sliding into the empty stool next to Derek. She was later than Derek expected, and he knows she was doing it on purpose, wanted them to have time to catch up without her. Or maybe she was just delayed; it's difficult to know with her.

“Thanks, but I don’t do this for money,” Chris says, and Braeden shrugs, unconcerned, and orders another round of drinks.

They don’t leave the bar until closing time, and by then Braeden and Chris are both pretty drunk. Derek takes Chris to his motel and entrusts him to Severo Calaveras, who gives him the stink eye, either for waking him up past midnight or for being who he is.

He goes back to his motel and curls around Braeden, and in the morning he texts Scott for the first time in almost a year. He sends another message after that; it says _Thanks for last night_.

He gets one back that says, _No thanks necessary, just keep in touch._

He thinks he will.

…

 

**2\. Witches**

 

Witches are the worst.

Derek hates magic with a passion, and it's not because of Jennifer. Well, not only because of Jennifer, though she didn't endear him to it. Most of the people who dabble in the art are greedy and stupid, and tipping them into being evil is surprisingly easy. It comes with having a shortcut to whatever they want easily available

Deaton, in spite of being too cryptic and not as helpful as he could be, is one of the few people Derek knows who hasn't abused the power, though he is a druid, not a witch. There is a difference.

That is nothing to what Dean feels for them, which is a loathing usually reserved for cockroaches and demons.

" _I hate witches_!" Dean exclaims for the millionth time, and if Derek keeps rolling his eyes that hard he's going to strain them, werewolf healing notwithstanding. They have been chasing this coven for the best part of a week, and even with the advantage of Derek's senses the witches have managed to evade them so far.

They are in an abandoned house on the outskirts of Raleigh, North Carolina, and Derek can smell the people who had holed up in there for the past day, and the ritual they had performed to avoid them. He can even tell how many, five witches, two women and three men, and what type of ritual they had performed, sexual with some blood thrown in the mix to spice things up. The blood had not been theirs, but the blood of a virgin. The body of the young girl found in the woods, torn apart as if by a wild beast, means that as soon as they find the coven, Derek is going to go to town on them fangs and claws, show them what a real beast can do, and the Winchesters are not going to stand in his way.

"We know, Dean," Sam says, with the fraying patience that comes from being in close contact with his brother for an extended period of time.

"They're always spewing their bodily fluids everywhere. It's creepy. No, scratch that, it's downright unsanitary!" Dean carries on, looking in distaste at the mess on the floor, where he has stepped. He is lucky that he can't smell it.

"Ease up there, Dean Winchest- Jesus Christ, is that a rabbit?" Derek says, looking at the half chewed carcass of the animal in a corner of the room. He feels his stomach churning, the pieces of what transpired in this house painting a picture even sicker than he imagined.

"Does it make you hungry, Hale?" Dean says, trying to relieve some tension with his terrible brand of humor.

Derek is not in the mood for his teasing, and flashes his eyes at him with a growl. "Fuck you, Winchester."

Is in moments like this that he misses Braeden and wonders what deity he pissed off in another life to deserve this level of punishment. He knew all along that what he had with Braeden was casual and it wasn't designed to last, and he had been sad but not heartbroken when it was over. They had a good eighteen months, and they still talk on the phone and see each other from time to time. It was Braeden who suggested he helped the Winchester in this hunt, and Derek is considering how best to thank her for it. He's stuck, his senses only able to take them this far until the ritual blocks him, and normally in this situation he would call Braeden for help, but she is somewhere in Peru, traipsing around the jungle in search of a cursed artifact someone pays six figures for.

He is stepping out of the house and dialing the number before he can second-guess himself.

"Chris Argent," the voice is gruff, as if he had been awaken in the middle of the night, which might be possible considering Derek has no idea where Chris is.

"Chris, is Derek, I need your help with something."

It's not the first time they have spoken since that night in Utah, or the first time Derek calls him for help. Chris has been a hunter for almost as long as Derek has been alive; his knowledge is as vast as the Winchesters though they cover different areas of expertise, and if someone can shine a new light on this clusterfuck, is him. He explains everything; from the moment he joined the hunt to the dead virgin and the ritual hiding the coven from him.

"So you've joined Sam and Dean on this one?" Chris asks once he's told him everything. "You're crazy."

"Tell me about it." He doesn't tell him that after Braeden had left, Derek hadn't been able to hunt on his own. He has tried, but few hunters trusted a werewolf, and there was a high chance of him becoming the prey if he stumbled upon them on his own. It was either joining the ones that knew and trusted him, which was an unfortunately short list, or quitting what he was doing and heading back home.

He's still not ready to go back to Beacon Hills, though he talks to Scott at least once a week.

"I'll check a couple of things and get back to you, be careful." Chris hangs up just as Sam and Dean come out of the house.

"Was that Braeden?" Sam asks, heading for the Impala. Sometimes, when he sees the car, Derek misses his Camaro. He knows Dean would have loved it.

"No, another friend. He'll get me some information, until then there is nothing more we can do here," Derek says. "Let's go back to the motel."

It is a silent ride, and in the end Dean goes to have a beer and Sam goes to their room to do some research. Derek has his own room, as much as he hates sleeping in a place where he can still smell the stale sweat, semen, and piss of countless previous guests. He's learned to blank the stench, though it's not nice, or he would never get a single night of sleep.

He checks the time, makes a quick calculation and calls Cora. They chat for half an hour, she talks about her life in South America, the pack she belongs to, the boy she's dating, and she sounds happy, calm. It's enough for Derek, enough that she is alive and in a good place, that he can talk to her and go to visit her occasionally. It's more than he had for a long time.

He falls asleep with a smile on his face and has no dreams. It's already light out when a knock rouses him, and he grumbles while he stands from the bed to open the door.

"Damn it, Winchester, I told you there was nothing we could do until we heard back from my friend," he says as he wrenches the door open, completely uncaring that he's just in his underwear. Serves them well for waking him up if they are uncomfortable.

It's not a Winchester on the other side of the door, but Chris. Derek blinks stupidly at him, uncomprehending, and Chris presses a cup of coffee in his hand and walks past him and into the room.

"Drink that, get dressed, we have work to do." He dumps his things on top of Derek's bed and goes out again. Derek snaps back into reality, the fact that Chris Argent is there and he's going to help them with this case finally registering. It's odd but he's feeling a bit excited at the prospect of working alongside Chris again, he hasn't since that time with the Nogitsune, and they didn't fully trust each other then, not like they do now.

He goes to the bathroom, relieving himself and brushing his teeth. Sam and Dean are inside the room when he gets out of the bathroom, both looking as disgruntled and sleepy as Derek was a minute ago.

"Your friend is _Argent_?" Dean asks, his voice thick with disbelief, because he has never learned manners or discretion. "You have _cojones, amigo_."

Both he and Chris shot him an unimpressed look and then ignore him. They have more important things to take care of.

"The ritual they used leaves a residue that we might be able to follow," Chris says while Derek gets dressed. He does it in front of the others, not a trace of modesty. He's a born wolf, after all, and has spent more time than he can count in his birthday suit. He can feel eyes on him, but he ignores them, focusing on Chris's explanation. "They are going to be at the height of their power."

"Of course, fucking witches," Dean grumbles and Derek shares the sentiment.

"We can only see it for a short period of time, after 24 hours we won't be able to use it, that's the reason I called in some favors to have a friend fly me here," Chris continues. "We have to go to the house, I have everything we need in the car."

Derek rides with Chris to the house. "Thanks for coming all the way here," he says. He wasn't expecting it when he called Chris, but he can't say he's not happy about it.

"This is what I do, Derek," Chris says, not taking his eyes from the road. "Whatever else might have happened, this is what hunters do. _We hunt those who hunt us_ , and these witches have killed an innocent. More than one as a matter of fact. I couldn't stand aside and let them escape."

"You could have instructed me on the phone," Derek says, because as curious as he is about what Chris can do to find that spell residue, he can smell the contents of the truck, and there is nothing there Derek wouldn't have been able to find easily. "You didn't need to fly all the way here."

Chris looks at him then, his expression intent. "This coven is dangerous, and as much as I might respect those guys, they take too many risks. I'd rather make sure _all of you_ come out of this alive."

Derek doesn't know how to respond to that, and the rest of the short drive is silent.

…

The coven is holed up in a beautiful house two towns west of their location, the family that lived in it dead and piled inside the basement like so much firewood, the stink of blood and death and dark magic making his eyes water and his gorge rise. Derek knows they would have been unable to find them without Chris's help, but it is difficult to feel grateful for it when he has Chris's knife pressed against his windpipe, his breath hot on Derek's face while one of the witches controls him like a demented puppeteer.

He can hear the sounds of Dean and Sam fighting some of the other ones, can see the corpse of the one he managed to defeat before this one realized the best way to fight an enraged werewolf was to use his friends. They can hide from him with magic, and put up a barrier of mountain ash so he can't get to them, but that won't stop the hunters or their weapons, and they can hurl as much magic as they want at Derek, he heals and keeps advancing on them, until one of them noticed and directed the next spell at Chris, who was fighting by Derek's side.

Now he can only dodge Chris's attacks, try to keep him from causing real harm without hurting him. It's harder than it should be, Chris might be human but one doesn't stay on top of the hunters’ families by being easy to kill. They stay locked in that stalemate for a minute, Derek keeping his strength in check and his claws and fangs hidden, and he can see in Chris's eyes that he knows what Derek is doing, and he's almost challenging Derek with a look.

If Derek wanted he could get past Chris easily, he just needs to hurt him.

He isn't going to.

Instead he pushes forward, his neck itching where it touches the knife, and Derek knows it means it's coated in wolfsbane. He's not even surprised, Chris is an Argent after all. He is careful to keep pushing with his entire body, moving Chris at the same time he advances, the knife pressed against his neck but not breaking the skin. He sees the moment the witch realizes what he's doing, sees how she looks at the ground, where Chris's feet are about to disrupt the line of Mountain Ash she is hiding behind, and she stumbles back, her concentration on the spell faltering enough for Derek to push Chris to the side and cross the circle.

He's in front of her in an instant, his claws tearing her throat out at the same time he feels pain explode in his back, the breath punched out of his lungs. He falls to his knees, the last of the members of the coven falling under the combined attack of the Winchesters, and he can hear Chris's voice over him even as he feels the burning of the wolfsbane coated knife being pulled from his back.

"Stubborn werewolf, what the hell were you thinking?" The gentleness of his hands when they pull Derek's jacket off him, ripping his t-shirt to get to his skin, belie the harshness of the tone.

"He alright?" he hears Dean ask, his voice gruff and concerned.

"He will be," Chris says, final. There is the click of a lighter, and the smell of more wolfsbane, and Derek grits his teeth against the pain of the ashes being pushed against his wound. It's a fleeting pain, gone as soon as the poison is neutralized.

Chris manhandles him towards the car, leaving the Winchesters to do the cleanup, and Derek wants to protest he is fine, but a chance to avoid burning the bodies is always something he will take, so he doesn't say anything.

"What the hell was that, Derek?" Chris asks once they are in the car heading towards the motel. "Why didn't you stop me."

"I did."

Chris glares at him. "You know you could have done it faster, you are stronger than me and have other weapons at your disposal. What you did almost got you killed."

"You said it yourself, we were _all_ coming out of this alive."

If Chris was going to make sure Derek was safe, then Derek was going to return the favor. Derek doesn't have so many friends that he can afford to lose one of the best.

Chris nods once and doesn't say anything else, and they talk about Scott and Beacon Hills until Chris leaves again.

…

 

**3\. Omega**

The omega fights like the feral beast he is, all claws and fangs and desperation, not a glimmer of intelligence in his eyes. It's depressingly simple to defeat; Derek avoids the hits with practiced ease, doesn't need to do much more than roar to have him cowering, even if he is no alpha and hasn't been for a long time, and then tear his throat out with a quick swipe of his claws. He can't understand how such a clumsy beast terrorized a county for a week.

In another life he would feel sorry for the poor bastard, rejected by his girlfriend and kicked out of his pack, but Derek knows what it is to lose his entire pack, to become omega not by choice but because everyone else is gone. And if Derek, who admittedly got handed the shittiest hand the universe had, has been able to avoid ripping innocents apart, then he's not going to be cutting anyone any slack. Chris seems to be feeling the same, if the contemptuous look he shots the dead omega while he covers the body in lighting fluid is anything to go by. They salt and burn the remains, because they are paranoid bastards and after close to two years hunting, Derek is not taking any risks. All sort of creatures tend not to stay dead, and it's always the worst ones that come back.

"Let's get out of here," Chris says once the fire dies. "I think I need a beer."

Derek looks at himself, the blood staining his hands and splattering his clothes. “I need to shower first, I don't fancy getting arrested. Again."

They get into the car, the ride silent and a strange sort of tension settling between the two of them. Derek can feel it humming in the car, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, the tips of his fingers tingling as if he was about to pop his claws out. He knows Chris is feeling it too; his heartbeat is faster than normal, his breathing shallower. It's not a bad sort of tension, though; it feels more like anticipation, like there is something waiting for them when they arrive at the motel. It takes Derek some time to recognize the feeling for what it is, leftover adrenaline from the chase, their bodies still primed for action.

He hopes the shower will help him relax, and the moment they are in their hotel room he gets rid of his clothes, practically ripping them from his body. He hates the smell of blood that clings to his skin, and even the flowery shower gel they have in that place will be better, though it normally makes him scrunch his nose at the stink. He's under the spray faster than ever, his entire body tingling with the adrenaline. He looks at his half hard cock and considers taking a few extra minutes to jerk off, release at least some of the tension. He decides against it when he focuses his hearing outside the bathroom and hears Chris pacing impatiently, probably wearing a hole in the shitty carpet of the room. He cleans himself, grabs a towel and wraps it around his hips before coming out of the bathroom.

They have hunted together a couple of times, and sharing a room is something Derek got used to quite quickly. He's a born wolf, so body consciousness is not an issue for him, and Chris has seen him mostly naked before, his only reaction and eye roll and an offhand comment about ridiculous wolves with ridiculous bodies. This time when he emerges from the bathroom, steam curling around him and drops of water still running down his chest, Chris freezes, his eyes focused on Derek's body. He's not a vain man, but Derek is not blind either, he has eyes and a mirror, knows what he looks like, knows that most people who find men attractive want him. It's not lack of willing partners that has kept Derek celibate since Braeden but choice; it was slow going but he finally learned the lesson, he needs to be able to trust his partners.

Trust is not a problem here.

He can see and hear Chris’s desire clearly; how his breath hitches, his heart stuttering before it begins to beat double speed, his pupils dilating until the black almost swallows everything else. He can smell Chris's arousal, sharp and sudden, and it triggers something in Derek, a low curl of want spreading inside of him. It's not the first time Derek looks at Chris and knows he's attractive; it's not even the first time he sees Chris looking at him appraisingly. It has never been an issue before, the timing never right while they built their friendship and trust.

They stare at each other, both of them frozen for what it feels like an eternity, and Derek can't be sure who moves first, only that one moment he's standing in the middle of their room, and the next he's pressed against the wall, Chris's weight pinning him there, his mouth hot and hard against Derek's lips. He could easily break the hold, push Chris away from him and they would never speak of this again. Instead he melts against the wall, opening his mouth to allow Chris to explore and taste, darting his tongue into his mouth for his own tasting and exploration.

Chris's taste is like nothing he has tried before, sharp and metallic and slightly spicy, but there is a sweetness buried under layers of everything else, and Derek is shocked because for some reason he thought it would be similar to Kate's, but it's not. It's the opposite, and it's fresh and natural where hers was cloying and artificial. He makes a noise at the back of his throat, almost a whine, and Chris responds by pressing him harder against the wall, his hands exploring his naked chest and torso.

"Fuck, Derek," Chris says, his voice wrecked, when oxygen becomes an imperative and they part. They are both panting as if they have run a marathon, still pressed against each other, and Derek would be embarrassed about the fact that the towel he's wearing covers absolutely nothing, his erection obvious, if he couldn't feel Chris's against his hip.

"I-" he begins, but he doesn't know how that sentence is going to end. He could say he doesn't want this, and he knows it wouldn't go further, but he does. He wants this. It's just the unspent adrenaline and the fact that it has been a long time for both of them, and the trust. This would never happen if they didn't trust each other.

They are both adults; if this is just relieving tensions for one night, then it's just that. They can have this without any other entanglement.

Decision made, Derek grabs Chris head for another kiss, pawing at his clothes. "You're wearing too much," he says, tearing his mouth away to gulp much needed air. He attacks his neck then, presses blunt human teeth to the pulse point and tendons. Chris tenses for a heartbeat before he visibly relaxes his body and tilts his head back, presenting his throat, and it's a gesture that will never not be hot for him, but coming from an Argent, who knows the significance and still does it willingly, it's brain melting. He nuzzles and nips at the skin there, hands made clumsy by impatience trying to undo the buttons of Chris's pants, his pulse thundering in his ears.

"Wait, wait," Derek hears, and it's surprised when Chris takes a step back, looking at him considering. He realizes it was him speaking, and tries to make his mouth work again. "Bed."

They stumble to the bed, Chris sheds his remaining clothes and sits on the edge, waiting, and Derek doesn't even think about it, sinks to his knees in front of him and presses his face against his crotch, inhaling deeply. It was the one thing Kate asked of him that Derek really disliked, something in the way she smelled made his instincts rebel against the submissive posture. It feels natural now, the smell intoxicating this close, and he can't wait to taste so he does, darting his tongue to lick at the tip and reveling in the moan that falls from Chris's lips. He goes slowly, exploring curiously and conscious of the fact that he is a complete novice in this. Derek has never been with a man before, never felt more than idle curiosity about it. His sexual history is sadly limited to two psychotic girlfriends and Braeden, but he has been in the receiving end of a blowjob, and he knows what he likes. He presses his tongue against the tip, pressing against the slit, before he puts his lips around the crown and sucks. Chris swears, hips bucking, and Derek can't help but to smile at that before he takes more of Chris's cock into his mouth.

It feels strange, but not unpleasantly so. His jaw is open as wide as it can go, and Derek has to make a conscious effort for keep his lips over his teeth. There are millions of jokes about using teeth, using fangs would probably be classified as something else entirely. He sinks slowly, Chris's thighs shaking under his hands, until he feels it hit the back of his throat. Instead of relaxing, as he has read in porn before, what Derek does is choke, his gag reflex kicking in. He pulls back as Chris apologizes, and takes a deep breath until he has it under control. Limit discovered, he goes back to what he was doing, curling one hand at the base of Chris's cock, and moving his hand and mouth at the same time. He must be doing something good if the noises coming from above are any indication, the sounds escaping Chris the most erotic thing he has heard. He feels Chris hands settle on his shoulders, light and anchoring, his own hands resting on Chris's hips.

"Derek," he says, and he sounds breathless. When Derek looks up he sees his pupils are completely blown, his face is flushed and his lips are red and swollen where he must have bit them. He moves his hands from Derek's shoulders to his head, grabbing his hair, and for a moment Derek wonders if he's going to hold his head and just fuck into his mouth. The thought makes him impossibly hard. "Come here."

There is a sharp pull in his hair, and Derek lets go, standing up only to be toppled on the bed, Chris's mouth claiming his immediately. The kiss is deep and filthy, the rasps of their beards like nothing he has felt before.

"Was it--?" he pants against Chris's mouth, wondering if his lack of experience was obvious, if it made it unenjoyable.

"It was good," Chris reassures him, his hands roaming all over Derek's back, pressing them together. "But I want to touch you."

He's on board with that, and that means he gets to touch as well, gets to press his fingertips over the wide shoulders, trace the sharp blades and follow the spine, he gets to move his palms down his side, cover his buttocks with both hands and squeeze gently. He gets to explore the hard abs and torso, pinch the nipples and enjoy the sounds he elicits and swallows with his kiss. Chris is not idle either, his hands moving over every inch of skin he can reach, his hips pushing up to slide his erection against Derek's.

"Have you been with a man before?" he asks, one of his hands migrating to Derek's ass, his fingers dipping teasingly into the crack.

"No."

The hand moves away after one last squeeze. "Neither have I," Chris admits, and before Derek can say anything, his hand curls around their cocks, stroking them together. "Then like this is good for now." Derek wants to say something, agree with him, because it is good, it is more than, but he can't find the breath for it. He groans into Chris's mouth, hands faltering at the rhythm set, his entire body vibrating with the need to come.

They kiss frantically, Chris's hand never wavering in its stroking, their mouths hot and eager, and Derek knows it's going to be fast, embarrassingly so, but he can't find it in himself to care when it feels so good, so right, and the soundfeeltaste of Chris is quickly sending him over the edge. He feels Chris come with a groan, and can feel his eyes flashing blue behind his closed eyelids in response, the wetness spreading between the two of them, and the smell, stronger than before, so rich he can practically taste it in the back his throat. He's powerless to resist, and he stiffens and comes like that, his face pressed against Chris's neck, panting hotly against his skin.

They disentangle after a few minutes, their heart beats slowly and all the tension finally goes. Derek flops on the bed, loose limbed and relaxed, and turns his head to look at Chris, who has apparently melted against the comforter. "You still want that beer?" he asks, because he fears that now the adrenaline has been completely spent, things might turn awkward.

"No, I think I will just stay in. You?"

Derek shakes his head, "No, I'm perfectly fine where I am now."

Chris smiles softly at him. "Good. Maybe we should order food later, replenish some energy just in case."

"In case of what?"

"We feel like going for round two."

...

There is a round two, and there is no leftover adrenaline to blame for that one.

The food has come and gone, and with it a couple of beers, the conversation flowing normally. They wait until the last crumb of the admittedly excellent burger has been consumed, and Derek will make sure to tip the receptionist for recommending the place to them, before they move back to the bed, completely unselfconscious. They kiss less desperately this time but no less satisfyingly, and they come with Derek face down on the bed, legs pressed together while Chris slides between his thighs, his mouth hot against Derek's neck.

There is also a round three, much later in the night. They fall asleep in the same bed, huddled together in the one with the clean sheets, and Derek wakes up to find Chris already awake and staring at him. They don't speak at all, but he knows what Chris might be feeling. This is the first time he had been with someone after Victoria, and it's difficult to get used to sleeping with another person after so much time. Derek offers the comfort he can; he's never been very good with words, but he knows how to use his body to convey a message, and he does, kissing and touching everywhere he wants, because Chris is letting him. He is thorough, using fingers and mouth to play him like an instrument, listening for the stuttering of his breath and heartbeat as a roadmap. When he finally take's Chris in his mouth again, it takes barely no time for him to come, without warning, and Derek feels the taste explode in his mouth, but he can't swallow it all, though he wants to, it's too sudden. He chokes, and when he finally stops coughing, Chris is staring at him with a fond expression.

"Thank you," he says before he kisses Derek, his hand curling around his cock and stroking him. It takes barely a minute for Derek to come as well, and when they calm down, they curl around each other and go back to sleep.

…

They don't speak of it in the morning.

They don't kiss or make any kind of promises either, and Derek wonders if it was just the one night or it's going to be something regular for them, something like what he had with Braeden.

 Or maybe it's going to be something else entirely.

 He doesn't know, and has no idea how to put his thoughts into words. It doesn't matter anyway, because Chris has to head to Beacon Hills for some business, the legal one. And Braeden is back in the States and she needs his help for her next hunt.

 "We'll talk," Chris says as he climbs into his car. "I'll contact you if anything comes up."

 "Good. I'll do the same."

 They look at each other awkwardly until Chris just shakes his head with a small smile and starts the car, leaving Derek to stare after him and wonder what next.

 ...

 

**4\. Demon**

 

It's Sheriff Stilinski who finally contacts Derek, and the message is short and to the point.

_Something weird going on in Beacon Hills._

Derek doesn't think twice about dialing the number for the Sheriff Department, knows Sheriff Stilinski is still going to be there regardless of the hour. With all the shit going down in Beacon Hills all the time and the pack away in college, it's a miracle the man ever leaves the station.

"Beacon Hills Sheriff Office," there is no receptionist at that time, and Derek recognizes the voice easily.

"Deputy Parrish, is Derek Hale," he says warmly. He didn't get to know Jordan Parrish too much, but he knows what he did for Chris and everyone else back in the dead pool days.

"Derek, thank god you called. I'll patch you through to the Sheriff," the relief in his voice is evident, and Derek wants to ask what is about, though he doesn't have the chance, the transfer tone signaling Parrish hasn't time to waste.

"Sheriff Stilinski."

"Sheriff, it's Derek."

"Thank god," he says, and Derek's hairs stand on end. The tone and expression are exactly the same as Parrish's, and it can't be a coincidence. It's never good when people are so happy to hear from him. "We have a bit of a situation."

...

Derek is in the first flight to San Francisco, trying to get some sleep because once he lands, he knows there is not going to be any real rest until this has been dealt with. It’s not going to happen, though, his mind going over the conversation he had with the Sheriff again and again.

"Everything has been so quiet that we have been in high alert around here, waiting for the next crisis," he said, and he sounded exhausted. There is only so much the body can take in a state of constant vigilance, Derek knows this intimately. "We knew the Nemeton was still active, and then we got reports of people being seen in the area, and one of them was behaving oddly. Parrish went to investigate, but he could never find anyone, though he says the place smells off and gives him the creeps." And well, dormant as it has been his entire life, Jordan Parish still has supernatural senses and sharp instincts, if he thinks something is off with a place Derek is led to believe him.

"Have you already called Argent?" Derek asked, because he expected that to be the Sheriff's first instinct since he hasn't been back in Beacon Hills yet. Still doesn't feel completely prepared to.

"I was going to." Derek heard the pause in his voice, could hear the way his heart was beating double time and knew whatever the sheriff said next, it was going to be bad. "Parrish went to the house of one of the people seen around the Nemeton; he saw Chris there, at the house, and Chris didn't even acknowledge him. He always makes a point to stop by the station when he's in the area, always speaks to him and sometimes he takes Parrish for lunch, to thank him for that time in the tunnels. This time he didn't even say a word, and when Parrish turned to leave, he says he saw Chris on the reflection in the car and his eyes were a solid black."

"God damnit," Derek swore out loud, every single horror story the Winchesters had told him about black-eyed demons coming to the front of his mind. "I'm on my way," he said, because there was really nothing else to add there.

Things have been a bit weird between them in the past month, not strained, not exactly, but charged with a tension it had not been there before. They haven't seen each other since the omega but they still speak on the phone, the conversations slightly awkward unless they are discussing a hunt, and Derek still doesn't know what he wants for their relationship to become. What he does know is that he cares for Chris, and no black-eyed bastard is going to take his friend.

The moment they touch down Derek is calling Dean Winchester. "Guys I have a problem, a black-eyed demon has taken Argent. I am going home and will try to exorcise it. If you don't hear from me in 24 hours, head to Beacon Hills, California. Go to the Sheriff department and ask for Sheriff Stilinski, he knows and will point you in the right direction. Bring your knife." He leaves the message in the voice mail, though he would have preferred to speak to them in person, but it's not unusual for them to cut all contact during a hunt. He just hopes they check their messages regularly and get back to him.

He hates going into this without back up.

He still has a couple hours drive before he gets to Beacon Hills, and there are a few things that need to be done before he arrives.

"Beacon Hills Sheriff Department," this time is the Sheriff who picks up the call, the tiredness obvious in his voice. He probably is the only person there considering the late hour, must have stayed waiting for Derek to call.

"I just landed," he says not bothering with pleasantries. There will be time to make nice with everyone once they have resolved this. If they are still alive. " I need you to do something for me."

"What is it?"

"I'm sending you an image, I need you to go to my loft and paint that symbol on the floor. It needs to be the exact same, and big enough for a person to stand in the middle with their arms outstretched. It needs to be concealed somehow, if the demon spots it we won't be able to trap it."

"I have some paint we confiscated from the latest black-lit party, it will only show with the right illumination," the sheriff says and Derek is reminded where Stiles got his intellect from. "Would that work?"

"That would be perfect. Scott had a key to the loft, chances are he left it with his mother."

"I think I will be able to open the door even without the key," the sheriff says, a note of humor creeping into his voice. “I'll call when I am done."

Once they hang up Derek goes to rent a car, wondering whether his plan has any chance to succeed, he can almost imagine Stiles and Scott berating him for his awful plans, a fond smile on his lips at their remembered unimpressed expressions. They have grown from the bratty boys he met after losing Laura, all of them have, and he thinks they would be surprised, and maybe a bit proud, at the level of cunning he is using now.

Maybe he is ready to go back home after all.

The sound of his ringtone takes him out of his thoughts, and the picks up the call without even looking at the screen. "It's done," Sheriff Stilinski says, "Come by the office to pick up the black light lamp before going to the loft."

"I will, thank you. Now go home and sleep." He hangs up before the sheriff can protest. He still has three hours to drive, and knows he will need to sleep at least a couple of hours or he will be completely useless for this, and the last thing he wants is to completely mess up an exorcism because he is too tired to pronounce the Latin correctly.

He has one last call to make before he arrives at Beacon Hills, though. The most important one.

"Chris," he says, keeping his voice as calm as possible. It's the voicemail, not that he had expected anything else at that time in the morning. "Just got a call from the Winchesters, they are heading to Beacon Hills, they have reports of demon activity there. They will arrive tomorrow and I am also heading that way, meet us in the loft tomorrow afternoon if you are in the area. If not, give me a call."

It's the perfect trap. No black-eyed demon will ever be able to resist trying to kill the Winchesters.

…

Derek wakes to the sound of the door being opened, steps inside the loft and an outraged scream.

The trap worked, then.

He blinks the sleep off his eyes and checks the time, tuning out the screams and invective he can hear from downstairs. The light tells him it isn't afternoon yet, his body complaining at the interrupted sleep. He has barely managed three hours rest, feels like he could sleep for ten hours more before he feels anything resembling human. He doesn't have that luxury, though. He had been counting on the demon listening to his message and going to the loft to try to ambush the Winchesters, though he had thought it would be later than this. He isn't complaining that his plan worked, but he is tired.

He can smell the demon before he even sees it, something acrid and putrid, like rotten eggs but stronger. Sulfur, and the stink of it clings to Chris, surrounding him like a disgusting cloud and covering his natural scent. He suddenly understands how it is possible that he had never known about this type of demon, how even his mother had not encountered one before. They thrived in anonymity, using whatever poor bastard they occupied as a disguise to fly under the radar. No wolf would have ever believe something that smelled like that was human, or that they were up to anything good. He is in the middle of the room where the sheriff drew the symbol, and if his nose wasn't telling Derek that thing is not his friend, he would believe it really is Chris looking at him with an impatient expression on his face. It changes the moment it takes a good look at him, Chris's eyes going complete black and inhuman.

"Of course, the werewolf," it says in the same tone of voice normal people would say, _the pedophile._ "No use pretending, is there?"

Derek scrunches up his nose in distaste. "No, not really." He heads to the table where he left the black light lamp and picks it up, switching it on and pointing at the ground. The demon looks down, lips curled in a sneer.

"I was wondering where the trap was, I even looked up," it says mockingly, looking up at the glass ceiling. "That was… unexpected."

"We wouldn't want to be predictable," Derek, replies He has his small notebook with him, the exorcism written in there by Sam Winchester. He has never used it, never imagined there would come a day he would need to, but he has read it a few times, the first one with Sam and Dean cracking up at his pronunciation. He thinks he has it covered now. "I am curious about what brings you to our peaceful town."

The demon looks at him considering and then shrugs. "Oh, you know, the views, the weather, the old sacrificial tree."

"The Nemeton." Not that he was expecting any other answer; he can't wait for the day that damned tree goes back to sleep.

"Perfect place to try and open the gate of hell again." And that is all you have to know about demons, apparently. They are set in their ways, and they will try the same shit over and over again.

"Didn't work so well the first times one of you guys tried," Derek says, moving around the symbol. The demon inside turns as he does, keeping him in its sights the entire time.

"But there are no Winchesters here now, are there?" the look it shots Derek is shrewd. "And they are not coming either, it was a lie to bring me here."

Derek smiles tightly. "Only in part, they do know you're here. They won't bother coming since I will be getting rid of you first." He's getting the notebook out of his back pocket when the sulfur smell hits him again, this time stronger, and he barely has the time to avoid being hit by another demon, this one inside the body of a young woman, as it launches itself at Derek from the door the other one had left open, and Derek realizes now he had neglected to close.

"You wouldn't imagine I was coming alone if there was a chance they were here," the one using Chris's says, his voice gleeful.

Derek lets the transformation come over him, the world around him sharpening while his fangs and claws elongate. He's going to meet the second demon head on, can't let it control the fight, but then there is a wall of energy hitting him, pushing him backwards with the force of a truck, and Derek is flying through the air until his back slams against the wall, air knocked out of him, pain exploding in his back. He can feel a couple of ribs cracking and healing, each breath painful while they do, the force that had slammed into him keeping in place, his feet dangling in the air.

The new demon straightens from a crouch, eyes black in an otherwise beautiful face, lip curled in a sneer to match that of the other one. "He probably thought he was so smart," it says advancing on Derek, and it doesn't escape him how it avoids the other one and the invisible trap. "Laying in wait, preparing invisible traps, thinking he--" it stops suddenly, the words dying on its lips, and Derek feels whatever it was restraining him disappear at the same time it screams.

"Yes, I was very smart." he can't help the smugness in his voice and expression, even if the merit really belongs to the sheriff. Derek had smiled at the note saying _I got Parrish to help me, we didn't know where to put the trap, and so we put them everywhere._ "I never said there was only one trap." He switches the black light on again, showing the extensive artwork on his floor. He will probably keep it; it won't harm anyone and will give a nice creepy touch if the guys ever throw another party at the loft. "Now, let's begin."

He takes the notebook out of his pocket and opens it, looking down at the notes he had made. Sam had always told him how the exorcism would make the demons scream as if in great pain, and that they would try to talk him out of it by any means necessary. He steels himself for what is probably going to be a very unpleasant procedure.

"You know, I have never tried to exorcise anything before," he mentions conversationally, "and the only reason I am trying now is because I know Chris Argent is still alive in there."

The demon smiles, and it looks awful and twisted. "So sure of that, are you?"

"It's the only reason I haven't used the knife I got from Sam Winchester. Yet." That and the fact the he doesn't have it, but the demon doesn't need to know that. Even if Sam can be convinced to let the knife out of his sights, Dean is possessive of it. "A dead hunter is nothing but a full-body suit to you guys. A live one, on the other hand, can be used in many ways. Especially against other hunters. Also, I can hear his heartbeat." The other demon doesn't have a one, which is the reason it could surprise Derek before.

"See," the demon says mockingly, looking at the other one with a nasty smile. "The wolf is more than a good fuck. He has a brain."

And that is Derek's cue to begin the exorcism. He has no interest in hearing what the demon has to say. " _Exorcizamus te, Omnis Immundus Spiritus_." The reaction is immediate, but it's not the one Derek was expecting.

The demon possessing the woman screams and hurdles abuse at him, and that is normal according to Sam; it's the one inside of Chris that starts laughing, the sound broken and horrible, the tightness in its jaw and expression a testament to the pain probably coursing it. "It's so pathetic how you're trying to save his life, you should be glad I took him," it says through gritted teeth.

" _Omnis Satanica Potestas, Omnis Incursio Infernalis Adversarii,_ "

"You should have killed him, this is the best excuse you'll have. He never hesitated hurting you, loved seeing you in pain. He still does, does that surprise you?"

Derek hears the words and forces himself not to listen, not to falter in his reading of the exorcism. It's a good thing he can't tear his eyes off the page. He wouldn't be able to tune it out of he was seeing him as well as hearing him.

" _Omnis Congregatio et Secta Diabolica."_

"But you don't care, like the kicked puppy you are. You will even let him fuck you; you're gagging for it. He knows it."

Derek feels the bile rising in his throat, tries to block the demon's voice but can't. He knows it's not true, but it doesn't make him any less sick to hear those words spoken in Chris's voice.

" _Ergo Draco Maledicte, Ut Ecclesiam Tuam Secura."_

"And the only reason he hasn't done it yet is because there isn't enough of you left to burn to justify being Kate's sloppy seconds. She got to have all the fun, after all."

He can't help himself at that, looks up from his notebook and his voice snags at the demon's triumphant expression. It knows that it's gotten to him, and is enjoying it. Derek swallows hard, his mouth feeling like he has coated it in Mountain Ash, and forces himself to finish the exorcism, not taking his eyes off the demon, the last line already memorized.

" _Tibi Facias Libertate Servire, Te Rogamus, Audi Nos!"_

They scream, loud and pained, and Derek knows the sheriff will be coming soon because someone must have heard this. They open their mouths, a cloud of black ash coming out of them, and Derek almost chokes on the smell of it, the sulfur and wrongness of it even stronger now it's not wrapped up in the human smell of its host. He sees the bodies slump on the ground, one unconscious and the other unmistakably dead. If the lack of heartbeat wasn't enough of a clue, the smell of blood and rot coming off it would certainly give it away.

He leaves them there, running to the bathroom and sinking to his knees in front to the toilet, retching bile, the demon's parting words echoing in his ears. Once his stomach and breathing are calm enough, he washes his mouth, getting rid of the disgusting taste and smell as best as he can. He picks up Chris and puts him on the couch, his heartbeat steady under Derek's hands, the smell of sulfur and evil completely gone.

He's going to be ok.

Derek picks up his phone while he grabs his bag. "Sheriff," he says the moment the call connects. "Chris is alive and in my loft, the woman wasn't so lucky, she has been dead for days. I," _can't be here, not yet, it is too soon_ , he doesn't say. "Got rid of the demons, I will explain everything when I come back but I have to take care of something first."

He waits enough for the Sheriff to acknowledge him and agree to go to his house and take care of everything before he hangs up, climbs on his car, and drives away.

He feels like a coward the entire drive out of Beacon Hills but that is not enough to stop him.

...

 

**5\. Alpha**

 

It takes 48 hours, some pointed words and not so subtle threats from both Cora and Braeden, for Derek to go back to Beacon Hills.

He had run away before Chris regained consciousness, and that had been a cowardly move, but totally justified. He had needed the time to think, needed the breathing space, and he had known it was something he wasn't going to get if he stayed.

"I know the demon was lying, I didn't need to hear its heartbeat to know," he had said to Cora after telling her everything that had transpired, every single taunt the demon had thrown at him and the barbs that had actually found its target.

"It wasn't Chris's desires it was throwing at you, it's your fears." She had been too reasonable, too knowing for Derek's taste when he told him about his and Chris night together. He half expected her to tell him what a stupid move it had been, but apparently she had grown up enough to allow him to make his own mistakes. At least in that.

"Only in part," he finally admitted. "The rational part of me knows it's not true, or I would have never trusted Chris enough to befriend him in the first place, let alone slept with him. I don't hate myself enough for that, not anymore."

"Then what?"

 "I don't know." Because that was the truth. He didn't, even if he knew the words weren't real, they had still affected him. And he still had no idea why.

 "Well, figure it out, and soon. I don't know Argent at all, but I know you and if he's half like you, he's probably wallowing in guilt," she had said before allowing Derek to change the subject, telling him all about the crush her boyfriend's little sister had developed on her and how hilariously awkward things were because of that.

Braeden hadn't been as nice. "What are you waiting for? Go back, talk to him, and if you decide to be a coward after all, come find me. I will have a hunt for you because I like you, even if you are not brave enough to face your fears." She had said, and then she had hung up on him.

So Derek goes back to Beacon Hills and heads straight for his loft. He's not surprised to find Chris inside when he arrives, camped out in his couch like he was when Derek left him there, only this time there is no dead woman on the ground or the leftover smell of sulfur and misery. He looks tired, the last couple of days probably not as restful as he needed to recover from the ordeal, and Derek feels a pang of guilt that his running away probably caused that. There are dark circles under his eyes and his mouth is turned down at the corners, even in his sleep, and it's no surprise to Derek that it's probably not a restful one.

 _You don't lose consciousness, that would be a blessing,_ he remembers Sam telling him. _You get to be a passenger inside your own body, and you can see and hear everything the demon does to your friends and family. They love hearing you scream while they hurt your loved ones using your face._

He wakes up the moment Derek closes the door, eyes zeroing on him immediately. Derek sees how his body goes from instant awareness to a sort of wary relief. He sits up, rubs his eyes and yawns, and they are so mundane gestures that Derek can't help but to smile a little.

"Hi Chris," he says, because he doesn't know how else to break the silence. He hasn't felt this awkward around the other man since the first days of their truce, back when Derek still was an Alpha and Allison was on the fringes of his pack.

"Derek," Chris replies, voice roughened by sleep. "Braeden said to wait for you here, I see she knew what she was talking about."

He goes to the kitchen and grabs two glasses, filling them with water and taking them back to the living room. He offers one to Chris, sits down next to him on the couch, and drinks from his just to give himself time to put his thoughts in order.

"I'm sorry," he begins, only to be interrupted by Chris.

"What that thing said--"

"Wait, let me--" They stare at each other for a moment, and Chris finally nods and lets him talk. "I know you were conscious the entire time, and I know you heard everything. I know what the demon said it's not true, I've spent enough time with the Winchesters to know more about demons than I ever wanted. As I told Cora, I don't hate myself enough to believe all that shit. Not anymore." He can tell by the minute loosening of his shoulders that Chris takes his word for it. "And I should have been here when you woke up, but I still had not figured out what I wanted with you and then that thing messed with my head, I needed space. I am sorry for that."

Chris stares at him, considering, his focused gaze unnerving Derek a bit. "Do you know now?" he asks, and the question is so out of left field that he doesn't know what he means.

"What?"

"Do you know now? What you want with me?" Chris repeats, his tone light and curious, as if he doesn't care much about the answer. His heartbeat is fast, though, and Derek could tell him that it's useless to pretend with a werewolf, but they are both aware of that, and yet they are both pretending.

Derek shrugs. "No, still no idea." he admits. "I care about you. I like that we are friends, and I like when we hunt together. And I liked that night we spent together." Which is surprising, considering he has never been with a man before, never has felt aroused by one either. He has always been able to appreciate the male form aesthetically, but it has never gone further than that. "What about you?"

"I don't know either, I like those things as well," Chris confirms, and it's a relief to hear it coming from his mouth even if Derek had suspected as much. "And I also care about you. But I don't do casual, I don't know how."

All that was what he had with Braeden, and yes it was nice and refreshing at the time. It was healing, because Derek had never had that before. And it was casual, because that was what he needed then.

But it's not what he needs now. And whatever else, things between Derek Hale and Chris Argent, almost the last survivors of their families for better or worse, can never be casual; they have too much history and blood between them for that.

"I don't think I can do casual either." He deposits his glass on the table and sees Chris do the same, and when he leans forward, he does it slow enough that Chris can either pull back or close the distance between them. He chooses the latter, and the kiss is tentative and almost sweet, the kind that is more brush of lips and declaration of intent than passion. It lasts for a few seconds before they separate, and Derek smiles. "Now what?"

"Now, I've heard there is a rogue Alpha terrorizing Oregon. I can do with a werewolf by my side, and not only during hunts, come with me?" Chris says, unknowingly mirroring the words Braeden said to him two years ago, and Derek can't help the way his smile widens at that. He can have everything he had with her and more. It is not love, not yet. But this time he has the feeling it can be. "We can figure out the rest on the way."

"I think I'd like that."

...

*Fin*


End file.
